The Moth
by Colubrina
Summary: It's one of Voldemort's Dark Revels, and Luna has a gift for him.


"Maybe you shouldn't wear that?"

Blaise had opted for fully black attire for the evening's event. Dark trousers. A dark shirt. Black dragonhide boots. He wasn't a Death Eater but, then, Pansy wasn't either, and he knew she'd be there in something equally borne of midnight and shadow, fresh off the runways of wizarding Paris. It wasn't a world for whimsy anymore. Black was expected. Black was safe.

Which meant, naturally, that Luna stood in front of the mirror admiring herself in a lopsided dress that shimmered in mostly purple, but also bits of blue and silver. She hadn't put shoes on yet, though he could hope that perhaps that was something she meant to do at the last minute. She had selected jewellery, however, and Blaise had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. She could have worn the sapphires he'd gotten her at Christmas. Those would have gone with the blue in her dress. Or, if that matched too well, she could have worn the rubies his mother had given her. Blood was always a popular theme at these things. But no. Instead, she'd found a bunch of sweet pea blossoms, charmed them to stay open, and braided them into a series of garlands she'd looped around her neck.

"You don't like the way I look?" she asked.

"You will look better than everyone there," he said with a curl to his lip. He was, as people had often noted, hard to please. Most of the guests tonight would be cringe-inducing social climbers with taste they'd tried to buy out of a shop. Luna started off with beauty and added a flair to it all her own. She was better than any of them. Better than all of them. "That wasn't my point."

"Then what did you mean?" Luna turned and tipped her head to the side.

Blaise studied her, then a smile pulled his lips up. It made his haughty face even less approachable, and he knew it. But why shouldn't she go dressed as she pleased? Unlike the rest of them, she had nothing to fear. "Do as you like," he said. "I would adore you in rags." He held his arm out to escort her, and she placed a hand on it then, impulsively, rose on her toes and planted one of her kisses on his mouth.

"Do you know what I found today?" she asked.

"No."

"A finger bone," she said. "It was in the garden. They point the way to the future."

Blaise forbore to ask whether she thought it would be a good one or a bad one. Some conversations were best saved for long afternoons over tea when philosophical meandering wouldn't get interrupted by fools who wanted her attention. That wouldn't be tonight. Dark Revels were always filled with sycophants, and this one was sure to be worse than most simply because it was larger than most. A party at the Dolohov's offered refinement and luxury. Pansy kept it fun, fashionable, exclusive. The Malfoys, well, they had large rooms and could accommodate a lengthy guest list. At least they had enough rooms that some of the more influential guests could stay on the premises, and Blaise could drink his fill. Apparating home drunk was never a good idea, and the last time he'd let Luna handle the side-apparation, they'd ended up in Bulgaria.

Still, he dreaded the crush. It would be tedious, and the food would be only slightly better than the company.

Blaise had barely shown Luna through the door of the ballroom before the first one of this evening's lot approached. Greg Goyle scurried up, his fingers winding in and out of one another. His black cape reflected the light rather than absorbing it, making him more like a shiny beetle than the malevolent thing of the dark he surely wanted to be.

"If I could just beg some of your attention," he said. "Luna. Miss Lovegood. Madam. I have a friend from the Department of Mysteries who wants to speak to you."

"You have a friend?" Luna asked. She sounded genuinely surprised. "I didn't know you had friends, Gregory."

He flushed. The dull red crept up over a collar straining at his buttons. "You don't mind if I borrow her, do you Zabini? It'll only be a moment."

"She's not mine to loan out," Blaise said. He eyed Luna. She'd pulled a finger bone from a hidden pocket and was passing it back and forth in her hands. Her nose had scrunched up, which was adorable, but she was also squinting. He carefully pulled her newest toy out of her hands. "You'll hurt your eyes if you try to study that in here," he said. "You know how Narcissa goes for mood lighting."

"It hides the bloodstains," Luna said.

"It does," he agreed. "Go off with Goyle, or he'll be nagging at you all night."

"He doesn't have friends," Luna said. "Which means he's lying. And liars are boring."

"Or," Blaise suggested, "he has hidden depths."

Luna turned her large grey eyes on the squirming Goyle. "That would be unexpected," she said. "All right, Gregory. Take me to your friend."

They'd gone a few steps off and were hovering at the edge of the crowd when Blaise said in a voice designed to carry, "Love, please don't hurt him if he turns out to be dull after all. That dress doesn't look like it's washable."

"Oh." Luna turned and flashed one of her smiles back at him. "No, it's fine. It is." And then she slipped into the mass of people, trailing after a man suddenly far more nervous than he had been moments earlier. It was all Blaise could do not to laugh. Gregory Goyle's discomfiture wasn't the best thing about the evening, but it certainly wasn't the worst either.

He _was_ pleased to see that Luna had, as usual, been right. In a room of people trying to outdo one another in their darkness, she flew through their night sky like a shooting star. Every eye turned to her. People sucked in their breath as she walked by. Blaise wouldn't have been surprised if more than a few of them made wishes on her as she passed.

He'd have to ask her to leave those flowers on later. That would be a sight. Her fair skin against the crisp Malfoy sheets, the scent of the flowers growing stronger as each petal was crushed between them.

It was interesting how you truly came to understand a thing's essence only in the act of destroying it.

Blaise took a glass of champagne from a passing server, ignoring the clink her chains made as she tried – and failed – to glide silently across the floor. He was glad he wasn't the host for this. It was a bit gauche to have staff who couldn't move gracefully enough to stay inaudible. Trust the Malfoys to have tried to save money on something like that. Before the war, peacocks and elves. Now, they couldn't even afford good help.

Well, at least they weren't the ones passing out the alcohol. It could have gone a lot worse for them if Draco's little crush on Potter had come out. If Narcissa hadn't alerted the Dark Lord that Potter wasn't quite as dead as he pretended. If Lucius…

Well, Lucius had never done much of anything right, but he did have a large house that was good for entertaining. And so, the less-than-stellar supporters lived on, inadequate catering staff and all.

"Having a good time?"

Thinking of the devil inevitably brought him out of hiding. "I am," Blaise said. He was, too. Watching the waves of a crowd part for Luna always made him smile, and the girl passing it out might have been a bit of a failure, but the champagne itself was top notch. The Malfoys cellar must run deep if they could still serve something like this. He took another sip. "You?" he asked.

Draco's smile was strained. "Mother always does a nice job," he said evasively. "Luna looks nice."

"She does," Blaise agreed. He held up the finger bone. "She found this today. Points to the future, she told me."

"Well, hers is certainly bright," Draco said. He jabbed an elbow into Blaise as if they were still boys roaming halls after lights out, looking for patrolling professors. Blaise supposed he should appreciate the warning. The Dark Lord was an unpredictable bastard, and a smart man always kept him in his line of sight.

"Lord," murmured the crowd. Heads bowed. People stepped out the way. Voldemort was here and, as Blaise could have predicted, while everyone else did their best to fade away, one more insignificant follower in a sea of black, Luna looked up and waved at him, all too obviously delighted he'd arrived.

"How do you stand it," Draco asked in an undertone.

"He barely knows I exist," Blaise said. "Her light leaves me in a shadow he doesn't notice very often."

"Lucky."

Lord Voldemort swept across the room, his grey, peculiar face twisting into a hideous parody of a smile. His red eyes glinted. "Luna," he said. "What presents do you have for me tonight?"

"I didn't bring you anything," she said. "But I do have these flowers." She pulled a single one of the sweet peas free of her necklace and tucked it into Gregory Goyle's hands. He stood, large and stupid, and Blaise sighed. He must have turned out to be boring after all. Well, he'd had a good run.

"What does this one do?" Voldemort asked with more patience than anyone else got from him.

"It shows the future," she said and clapped her hands. The flower exploded into a fog, and Goyle let out an agonized wail that transformed into hysterical sobbing as the fog melted all the flesh from his hand, leaving only the bones.

"Make it stop, make it stop," he begged, his voice going up and up.

Luna flicked her wand at him with obvious annoyance, and though Blaise could see Goyle's mouth was still moving, she'd silenced whatever other desperate pleas he was making. She broke off one of his fingers and handed it to Lord Voldemort. "Finger bones point the way to the future," she said.

Goyle collapsed to the floor, the fog slowly eating its way up his arm, but the crowd turned from him to wait for Lord Voldemort's reaction. Blaise held his breath for a moment. It only took one time for her to fail, and then life could get far too interesting for his tastes.

But tonight, Voldemort took Luna's hand and pressed his thin, serpentine lips to her skin. Death tended to make him happy, and painful, creative death was the sort he liked best. "And since your flower is the sweet pea, shall I assume that future is pleasure?" he asked.

"Well," she said, nudging at what was left of Goyle with one bare foot. "Not his."

A nervous laugh ran through the assembled guests.

"But ours?" Voldemort asked, watching her intently.

"Mine, certainly," she said. "Yours, if you can take it. Can you?"

His smile was the sort that devoured nations. "You heard the lady," he said to the room. "Take pleasure, my friends, and the future is ours."

The cheer that greeted that made the catering girls flinch. Someone hustled in to remove the skeleton from the floor. Music began to play, loud and demanding. Someone screamed, and there was a laugh. Luna, Blaise noted, had her hand in Pansy's. Their heads were pressed together, sharing something no wise man would ever ask about.

"I don't know you endure it," Draco said, his voice tense. "Being married to his favorite."

"I don't know how you endure not being married to her," Blaise said. He handed his glass off to a caterer and strode off across the floor of Narcissa Malfoy's ballroom. He might be nothing but one of a thousand moths drawn to Luna's bright flame, but it was a glorious way to go.

. . . . . . . . .

**A/N - For Anon - I hope you feel better soon**


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